Anyone can write about sex...

It is like writing about the rain -
only being able to aptly describe it

I woke up one night because
I heard you call...
I answered the night
but the night was still

Today is not a day for poetry...
it is a day for sketching -

I shall take a blank page and

The moon hangs low tonight over the city
the colour of a blood orange
a portent of hate,
the same colour as the flames

I find it easy to pray for
other people -
to wish them happiness

She waits on the steps of his building,
sitting daintily, so not to crease her dress
checking and rechecking her appearance
in a silver-plated compact mirror

I am unreachable
floating amongst the stars
removed from all things mundane
- no soil on my hands

I sit in the bath
letting the water run out
not moving
my body glistening from the

The stage is empty now,
having been swept for the
repeat performance...
the used styrofoam cups

When is a flower more beautiful?

Is it when it has grown
from a seed,


If I were a tiny sprout of grass in the Garden of Eden,
would God have noticed me and mentioned to the
Angels how He admired my smooth
stem and the emerald green of my blade?

It is not in the goodbye
where my pain lies...
the hurt of the anticipated parting
lives in the sweet agony of


In the early hours
I whisper my secrets to you
my lips against your temples

I found it
A lone feather on the lawn...
the evidence that a greay dove
was here, earlier

your black heart…
the vortex to which I


A girl with a red coat walks against the wind,
her shoulders hunched.
She carries the world around her like a cloak.
Her footfall is uncertain, the one in front of the other

And so I find myself back
at this place

Like sand washed by the tides
over and over again,
or mist rolling into a valley…

You have a sensual mouth
its fullness defining your
bold outlook on life and
concurring with the

The girl at the window
looks out
she sees nothing...


'On the distant fields, on the bird's wide wing, on the whirlwind dark... I write your name' -Eluard' poet of the French Resistance. - - it was these few lines that captured me as a young girl... it put me in a different state of mind. I have always loved words and made up phrases in my head... what you read here is the outflow.)

The Best Poem Of YURI DURAAN

Anyone Can Write About Sex

Anyone can write about sex...

It is like writing about the rain -
only being able to aptly describe it
if you have walked naked in a flood
with the rain beating down on you...
following the sensual flow of the water
down the road... down... down
and feeling the velvet drops on your skin
when you open your mouth to take the
water in... to feel the surge of it
taste it
swallow it
wade through it with your body
your senses alerted to every change of
temperature where the imaginary stream
takes you
looking up and seeing nothing but rain
and life and love and lust -
giving over to the experience,
surrendering self and being a sacrifice to
the open heavens
almost drowning in the downpour
before finding shelter in warm,
loving arms.

Anyone can write about sex.

I can write about the rain...
I'm qualified.


British tradition looked and corrected at far lands. At the end a sensual feeling bursts out. She is a neo romantic.

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